


1023: Stand By

by midnightcas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Law Enforcement, Alternate Universe - Police, BAMF Erica, Deputy Derek Hale, Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Endgame, Endgame Sterek, F/M, Getting Together, Hale Pack, Happy Ending, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Lydia is Perfect, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychology, Scott is a Good Friend, Therapy, Werewolves, established stydia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10841085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightcas/pseuds/midnightcas
Summary: After the Kanima swept through Beacon Hills' Police Department, leaving only half it's members left, the Sheriff can't deny that they're all now a little bit tired and a little bit broken. Stiles hadn't spent longer than a week in his hometown since he left for college seven years ago, but that's all about to change. He joins BHPD in hopes to repair and remend the once tight knit family, with every intention of scurrying back to where he came from, once his job is done. That is, until he meets Derek. Now all he can do it call in a 10-23 back to his friends...and fiancé in New York. And stand by.





	1. DOA: Dead on Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> You clicked my fic! Thank yoouuu~
> 
> So, I'm really excited about this one because I love reading Cop!AUs but haven't really had the opportunity to write one. And naturally, I decided to give it a shot during finals week. I, myself, am majoring in forensic psychology so I definitely wanted to put a bit of that element in there and...well, you'll see.
> 
> There's mentions of therapy and some people seeking help after what the summary says. It doesn't go deep into details, really, but I just wanted to let you know in case you have any discomfort about the topic. But therapy is great and I really encourage everyone and anyone to take advantage of it if you can, even if you're not going through anything major. Think of it as a little checkup for your mind like a regular checkup you get for your body! Anywho, that's my anecdote on therapy.
> 
> So here's chapter one (unbeta'd oc) and I really hope you guys enjoy it!

John Stilinski ran his rough fingers through his thin sandy hair. He looked out across grassy hills of Beacon Cemetery, vaguely wondering what kind of fertilizer the county used to get it that almost abnormal green color. Movement to his right made him check his thoughts. He felt his blank expression grow hard, the reminder making him feel hollow.

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since the Beacon Hills Massacre. Or at least, that’s what the papers had been calling it. The story had made itself all the way around the country. They had received donation checks, and phone calls. Even the guys from the LAPD paid them a visit and offered their support. They had racked up thousands of dollars to fund any repairs they needed and were already sorting through any offers for temp workers if they needed time off. It was hard to be grateful though. Too many lives had been lost. Too many friends. Too many parents. This was his sixth funeral this week. He looked over to his remaining.

Hale’s face was as stoic as the day his parents had died. Cora stood beside him, her hand in his, her knuckles were white but the rest of her gave nothing else away. Parrish had stained cheeks from the tears he allowed to slip out, but not a sound otherwise. Kira was stone and Liam...Liam looked terrified. The poor kid. It had been his second week interning at the station. He had been in the evidence room when it happened and John found him in the corner three hours later. Some kind of animal, he was told. Some monster tearing through his station, his _home_. Hunting for sport. Hunting to kill.

John swallowed, refusing to let any emotions reach his features. He needed to be strong. For himself and for his team. It had been hard on all of them. Not two days after the incident did the state send a trained clinician saying they needed someone to talk to. And they did. They really really did. But of course no one actually took the steps. And, John assumed, that was mostly his own fault. He had outwardly shown his distrust for the man, coming into his station and acting like he knew exactly what everyone needed. And maybe he did. But now they’d never know. His officers took his lead, just as they had been trained to do. And sometimes John wished they weren’t so flawlessly loyal. The man had left after a handful of failed group sessions and a multitude of dead ends, especially when he tried to trace everyone's’ troubles back to their childhood. Give him a break.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t _believe_ in therapy or anything. Hell, his own son had become a psychologist. Besides, the few appointments he had made after Claudia had passed had done wonders. Couple that with a few AA meetings and he was good as new, A+ Daddy, #1 Sheriff. It had only taken this disproving look of Melissa McCall after she had found Stiles curled up in his and Scott’s treehouse one night after he’d taken off after dinner when John had reached for the whiskey. It had been a four hour long endeavor, the two of them, plus Raphael searching the town over...twice. The memory still made his stomach turn. Needless to say he had never touched alcohol in the presence of his son again, without the slightest regret, either.

His eyes landed on Tara. Remembering that she had been there that night, too. She looked as tired and worn as John felt. Like he said, it had been hard on all of them. They were down each other’s throats, taking their sick days, working too hard, working too little. And John understood. Something like this? Well, it was hard to come back from. Of course it was hard to lose someone in the line of work. But something like this? No. It should have never been like this. Eight people. All at once. Nearly half of the rocky twenty one they had to start. Slaughtered. Killed. Partners. Family. Friends. He shuddered to think what it would have been like if it had been during shift change.

Tara’s sigh pulled him from his thoughts. The crowd had all dispersed, heading towards their cars parked out of the way. The few remained where all officers and part of the House. They were all watching him. Eyes heavy. Waiting for his move, his say. They were family and he was the head of the household. Sometimes it felt like that. But other times, times like now, it felt more like they were members of a suicide mission he was the one calling the shots.

“So, Chief,” Tara’s voice washed over him, her too taking in the others--Derek, Cora, Parrish, Kira, Theo, Aiden, Liam, Erica, Isaac, Boyd and Danny, “What do we do now?”

And wasn’t that a loaded question. He had an answer though. He was a Stilinski for Christ’s Sake. He let out a sigh as he reached for his phone. He his speed dial and allowed for it to ring once before eyeing his team.

“We start recruiting.”

 

Stiles leaned back against the cherry wood desk in his father’s office. His arms were crossed and his posture was stiff. This place had once been a home to him. But now it was foreign. A place marked by dead memories and littered with blood. The only survivors he knew were Tara and Parrish. And his father of course. Everyone else that he had grown up knowing as “Aunt” or “Uncle” was dead. He had spent holidays here and birthdays. Deputy Clark used to bring him to school when his father had the morning shift. Officer Jones had the best fucking dog in the world. When his mother died and his father fell off, they were there. Making sure he ate his vegetables and did his homework. Officer Kant had taught him to cook, others had brought them to their homes for meals. They all had been there every step of the way. Stiles wasn’t sure if he’d be here without them...and now _they_ weren’t here.

The phone call had been a tough one. He immediately felt like that scare little kid again. Standing in the middle of the white washed hospital room after watching his Mom die, clutching at the only other person he had left in this big, giant world. It was the same swooping, all consuming feeling. But this time, he was 3,000 miles away.

But when he got the second phone call, he hadn’t even hesitated in packing his bags and booking a ticket back home. He had gotten in last night, not even bothering to make the drive to the house. He crashed at the airport hotel and had made his way into town in the early morning. “Immediately” and “as soon as possible” had been thrown around in his conversation with his father and Stiles was never one to keep people waiting. Besides, waiting left time to think. And, if he could just get by a little longer without having to think about this...maybe he’d be fine.

He had left Scott, Allison, Lydia and Jackson back in New York. They all had their own thing going on. Lydia was finishing her PhD and Allison was finishing her MA in teaching. Scott was doing nothing right now and Jackson was interning at some big deal law firm. Whatever. They had all been supportive in his decision. Even Jackson had urged him to go. Whether that was because he had Stiles’ best interests at heart or just wanted him out of his hair, was questionable, but he had urged him nonetheless. The night before he left, Scott announced that if Stiles was still out in California when Allison finished his schooling, they’d come back with him. Afterall, both their parents were there and as Scott had said through drunken tears, if _Stiles_ was there too, then that was all he needed. Fuck, the bone head was such a good friend to have. Lydia and Jackson both agreed they'd be to visit when they had all piled into a taxi and dropped Stiles off at Laguardia.

He had changed into his grey suit that was tailored to his body this morning. It hugged his broad shoulders and accentuated his thin waist. Lydia had given him a very sexy once over and given it her seal of approval, and hell, that must have meant he looked good, right? He shoved his hands into his pockets as he waited. His father should be there any second now, but his nerves did nothing to ease themselves. He knew maybe one or two of the new employees. And when he said new, he meant, that had taken up the badge in Beacon Hills in the last seven years. Yeah...seven. Admittedly, he left to get his degree in forensic psychology in New York, his best friends and girlfriend in toe, and just never really made it back. Well, no longer than any holiday or weekend. He had finished his MA in a year and had been training and counseling the NYPD ever since. (When he had given his boss, _Finstock_ , his two weeks notice, the man called him an idiot and claimed he was committing career suicide. After a short second, Stiles had claimed that the only reason he wanted a career in the first place was to have a stable life and to support his family. And taking this job in Nowheresville, Beacon Hills, California, was exactly that. Finstock had only shaken his head fondly and extended full time employment if he ever did “drag his head back out of his ass” and change his mind. He wouldn’t, and they both knew it, but it was still nice to have a place to fall on when he came back). And while working with cops was nothing new, this was still unchartered territory. Ever since he could remember, the BH Precinct wasn’t just a Precinct. It was a community. A family. And here he was, coming in here with all this new and improved methods, about to tell these officers how to do their jobs when he himself had never set foot in the field. And especially after a tragedy like this one...it was going to be tough. It wasn’t nothing he didn’t already know, but it was still a heavy rock to move.

He jumped at the soft squeak of the door opening. A man stood in the doorway, as if only stopping in for a moment. He had dark hair and glasses that were carefully balanced on his nose as he looked over the file in his hands. His uniform was askew and Stiles couldn’t tell if he was coming or going, he himself aware of the peculiar hour. After a moment of silence the man looked up, startling at Stiles’ seemingly random presence, features quickly hardening. His forest green eyes were now void of emotion, his posture stiffened, stance widened and shoulders taut. It took everything that Stiles had not to stifle a laugh. Typical cop.

His jaw jumped, “Can I help you?”

“I’m just waiting for Sheriff Stilinski.”

“Did you have an appointment?”

Stiles felt his eyebrow twitch, “He knows I’m coming. If that’s what you mean.”

“He’s not in right now,” the man...Deputy Hale, as Stiles made out on his uniform, nearly growled. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was intentionally trying to be off putting and rude, or if this was just who the guy was, all snarled speech and defensive postures, “Can I help you with something?”  
  
“No. Do you know when he’ll be back?”

Hale studied him closely for a moment before snapping a “no” and turning to leave. Stiles physically had to stop himself from gaping. _Professional_ , he reminded himself like mantra, _professional professional professional._

“Then do you know if Tara Graeme is here?”

“Chief Deputy?” It was a question, but Stiles felt like it was more of a correction.

“ _Yes_ . _Chief Deputy_ Tara Graeme. Is she here?”

With a curt nod, Hale said, “I can take you to her.”

Stiles nodded and pushing himself off, his hands still comfortably in his pockets, and followed the man out. They walked through the bullpen and through the small atrium that was currently under construction. It made Stiles’ stomach ache and saliva build. He forced himself to swallow and push away any thoughts of getting sick in the middle of the House. He caught Derek looking back at him almost curiously. When he caught Stiles’ gaze, however, he scowled and turned away. And man, this guy was weird.

He sighed, trying to ignore the hard glances thrown his way by the other officers. He knew the situation. They lost a lot of their department. A national story came out of it. They’d be under scrutiny and harsh review for a while. And here he came. Douche Canoe in a suit. Coming in to, as far as they knew, “shake things up” as PR liked to call it, take away their comfort and structure that they so desperately needed, especially now, play with their habits and rules. Hell, he could have been there to fire Tara and John and take over from the top. Or shut everything down. Or integrate them into new precincts. Bring in his own guys, “temp” workers, to pick up the slack until they found new hires. And, pff, Stiles knew how that one went. Those guys? Yeah. They never left. But they sure as hell find a way to ensure promotion after promotion quick enough so that they’d soon be running the whole thing. If he was on the other side, he’d be thinking the same things. But why did they have to look so miserable. He wasn’t the antichrist for crying out loud. He wasn’t walking on his hand or chanting backwards in latin yet. He was walking, head down, silent. The picture of perfect submission in another’s territory. He knew the rules here. It was their House. Whatever they said, went. Fair was unfair and vice versa.  He was completely blind as to how this would go. Except for the fact that it was going to be a very long and a very grueling few months.

 

Tara saw him before he saw her. Their brown eyes met and she smiled. He could see the gleam in her eyes from a mile away and readied himself to take part in her usual games. He needed something to unwind, especially before all... _this_ went down. And Tara, bless her, must have seen that in his sloppy posture and humble pose, because if anyone knew how self assured and _loud_ Stiles was, it was her and his father ( & Scott).

“Can I help you?” She grinned.

“Oh.”  
  
“Oh?”

“I don’t mean to be rude but...what is someone like _you_ doing working in a place like this?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Well to be frank...you’re fucking stunning, officer.”  
  
“That’d be Chief Deputy to you, darling,” she smiled cheekily.

Stiles shot a look at Hale, noticing that he was still in the room. He was watching in under the premise that he was still reading through the file in his hands, flipping through the stapled pages. He looked about .3 seconds from intervening and... _oh_. Had Tara managed to snatch this fine specimen of a man up? How dare she not mention that to him over their weekly text sessions!

“Mm,” Stiles felt his lips curl up, “So you’re not only gorgeous, but capable as well. I’d say you’re out of my league.”

“And you’d be right.”

He saw Hale smirk at that. And, _ouch_. He looked smug at the shut down. Normally, he’d pass it off as pride in his Chief Deputy, but with him? Stiles had a feeling it was something different. The guy had so much satisfaction in his failure. What a dick.

“Well, what do you say we have dinner. You and me. Friday night? Give average a shot?”

Tara leaned in towards him, “I don’t know, I’m _supposed_ to have plans with an old friend that night.”

“I’m sure he’d be willing to reschedule. If he’s such an old friend. I know I’d be.”

“Then reschedule.”

“Would tomorrow be too soon?”

Tara leaned back and tapped the papers she was organizing on the desk between her hands to align them, “Yes.”

This time the asshole actually snorted out loud. And Stiles didn’t even care if this was a game anymore. This guy was seriously the worst. Like who does that? Is he _that_ secure in his manhood that he thinks he has to stand there and passive aggressively convey his distaste for him? Who was his father even hiring these days? Seriously? He couldn’t--

His thoughts were cut off when Tara leaned in again and smiled.

“Stiles,” a voice boomed from behind him, “Stop flirting with my Deputy. I called you here to do a job!”  
  
The voice was fond and exasperated and Stiles spun around quickly. He couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face.

“Daddio!” He cried, striding over to take his father in a hug.

He almost missed Derek’s paled expression and slack jaw, “Dad?” he echoed in disbelief.

This time is was Stiles who was smug.

The man chuckled and returned the gesture, squeezing Stiles tightly before distancing them with a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, looking him up and down.

“You look good, son!”

“Son?” He heard Hale echo again.

“Oh, Derek,” John smiled at the man, who looked like he just had the rug pulled from beneath him, “You’re here. Good. Do you have that file on--”

Hale-- _Derek_ , grunted as he shoved it into his Chief’s waiting hands, not even letting him finish his sentence.

Without another word he slammed back into the bullpen, leaving Stiles staring after him.


	2. AC: Advised & Complied

Stiles had one job to do and one job only. His sole mission was to get the BHPD back up on its feet again. His Dad had said everyone was slowly falling apart and he didn’t know if he could take it any longer. It had been a few weeks and there had been no change, which is where Stiles came. More or less, he was there as an on site counselor. Or as Tara had smiled and said, a glorified babysitter. Which, he kind of was. It was basically his old job, now just a lot more...complicated. And closer to home.

He was currently standing at the front of the room with his father, watching the handful of officers that were left standing, trickle in the room. A few he recognized from high school, like Erica and Cora, but the others were completely unknown. He twisted his hands together, knowing but not caring, that it was a physical sign of nerves. He was supposed to be a psychologist for Christ’s Sake. He needed to get himself together. He let out a breath and finally pulled his shield from any and all emotions down. And of course that was when Mr. Grump himself walked in. He made brief eye contact with Stiles and ensured to counter all recognition with a scowl. Stiles tried his hardest not to roll his eyes.

His father had told him that Derek Hale, the same Derek Hale whose entire family had burned to death in a house fire years ago, was a standup cop and well respected in both the station and community. He, obviously, would be Stiles’ biggest challenge. But he didn’t blame him. The guy’s life was something out of a novel. Dead family? Psycho ex? Tragedy around every corner? Stiles was pretty sure if he ever wrote one of those harlequin books, Derek would be his flaming star.

“Okay,” his Dad smiled at the inhabitants of the room, catching Stiles’ attention as well, “I know...listen, I know everything’s a lot right now. Something like that is never easy to cope with, let alone come back from. We lost amazing men and women and half our force. There’s going to be a lot of...pressure on our performance for a while. Things are going to get nitpicky and ridiculous. That’s why I brought him in,” he hooked a thumb back at Stiles who was, again, leaning back on the desk in the front of the room, “Wanna introduce yourself, kid?”

He smiled and stood, taking in the ten that sat in front of him.

“Hi, I’m Stiles,” he waved,  “I think I know a few of you from high school. Anyway, I’m a forensic psychologist. Uh, I studied in New York and have been working the the NYPD for the past few years. Your Sheriff asked me to help get you guys back on your feet as soon as possible.”

“What are you supposed to actually do?” Someone...a T. Raeken, spat out.

“Well I’m a psychologist, first and foremost. I--”  
  
“Sheriff, I thought we all already made it clear we didn’t want to talk to a shrink. We’re fine.”

A murmur of agreements ran through the room. He couldn’t help but look to his father. The man sighed and stood, placing a warm hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

“I know. But I really think we could benefit from this. What happened isn’t normal. And if you don’t find yourself thinking about it instead of doing your work or brushing your teeth or going to bed, then you’re lying to yourself. I want all of you to see him at least once. The first guy was a joke, we all know it. But Stiles has been trained exactly for situations like this one. He’s had experience and I trust his credentials, completely. I wouldn’t ask you to if I didn’t think it’d be worthwhile.”

Stiles sighed, “I know you don’t want me to be here. I get it,” reflectively his eyes shot to Derek who’s burning gaze met his, “You lost your team. Most of them were your family too. I grew up in a station. This one, to be exact. I spent my whole life surrounded by cops. I get it, I’m the new guy in a suit who’s coming in here like I’ve been with you every step of the way. I’m well aware that I haven’t been. I’m not asking you to trust me, at least not anytime soon, but I am asking that you trust your Sheriff. And especially yourself. If you want to talk about it or not talk about it, that’s fine. Just know I’m a resource.”

“Stiles is here for all of us. I know Tara and I will be seeing him as well. Like I said, I’d like you all to see him at least once while he’s here. It can be a discussion about what happened or something at home or just what’s going on in your life. Everything you tell him will be confidential, by law. He’s not here to judge us.”

“I’m on your team,” Stiles agreed, “I want this station to succeed as much as all of you. I’m only here to help, not step on any toes.”

“Since he’s been working in New York, I’ve also asked him to do some training in the new methods. They’re going to make their way out here eventually. And why wait for the students when you can utilize the teacher?”

Next to him, Stiles scoffed. His father smiled before a funny look crossed his face.

“Stiles, do you mind giving us a second?”

He gave an wobbly grin, “Sure. I’ll see you guys around.”

Tara followed him out and waited as he bent over, trying to steady his shaking hands, a quirk that he never quite outgrew.

“You’re fine,” she said, placing a soft hand on his arm.

“I know, I know. Public speaking. Just the...anxiety. It never goes away. I’ve been doing this shit since I was twenty.”  
  
Tara chuckled, “Listen kid, I’ve been a cop since _I_ was twenty. I still shake every time I aim my gun.”

“Really?” Stiles asked, looking up at her, “You should see a therapist for that.”

She barked out a laugh before shoving him away, “Come on. I’m on lunch. I bet you’ve missed Ruby’s.”

“Fuck _yeah_ , I missed Ruby’s. I’ve searched everywhere in the city, there’s no curly fry that compares.”

“Language,” she warned.

“Sorry!”  


 

John gave his officers a weary look.

“I trust you’ll all give Stiles a fair shot?”

“What makes him so special? He worked in New York? Is that supposed to impress us? We told you we were fine, Sheriff. I don’t see why we need a shrink.”  
  
“Well first off, he’s my _son_ so watch your tone, Raeken,” he knew his voice was snappy and his teeth were bared, but he didn’t care.

Theo was a jerk and everyone knew it. Besides, John was usually so placid and calm. He was allowed to lose his cool every once in awhile. Especially when someone was looking to bad mouth his son. Fortunately, that silenced the room.

“Look, he knew every officer that went down that day,” that fact seemed to draw a reaction, “he’s here because I asked him to be. He’s not charging us his normal fee. He’s not giving information over to anyone else. He’s a 100% safe space. I was the one who asked him to be here for us and he hadn’t even hesitated in quitting his job with the _NYPD_ to come _here_ . He’s not doing himself any favors, so I trust that you will treat him with the respect he deserves. Is that clear?”  
Murmurs of “Yes Sir” ran through the room.

“Good. He’ll probably be here in the station quite a bit, but his office will be off site to ensure confidentiality. He won’t tell me who goes to see him, but when he leaves he’ll let me know who didn’t and you’ll be stuck on desk duty indefinitely.”

   
  


Stiles was sitting at one of the empty desks. It had been Deputy Clark’s if he had remembered correctly. It was in the corner of the office, allowing him to see pretty much the entire bullpen as well as his father’s office. He hadn’t bothered bringing in any of his office stuff besides his laptop, which was already set up and connected to the station’s wifi as he began typing up his first of many reports.

“Stilinski.”

His head snapped up. And there was Erica Reyes in all her glory, big breasted, confidant, blonde curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, long strides, gleaming eyes and a mischievous smirk, heading straight towards him.

“Erica,” he smiled warmly.

“Stand up and give your reject friend a hug.”  
He laughed as he did as he was told. They had been friends in middle school. Both of them a little too nerdy for their own good. Plus, they had both been sorted into Slytherin, so there was that connection, too. They had kept in loose touch via social media, but nothing else.

“You grew up _nice_ , I gotta say.”

He didn’t even try to hide his blush. Ever since their sophomore year of high school, after her insane summer self transformation, as she had called it, the reaction was inevitable around her. There had been a time when he had become immune to her flirting and vixen ways. But he was out of practice. Clearly.

“I’m not the only one,” he shot back, “You’re as gorgeous as ever.”

“Oh, me-ow. Stilinski’s got some game. Dinner this weekend? Me for desert?”

“While I regret missing that chance, I do believe we’re both engaged, now.”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” she huffed, dropping into Stiles’ chair. He sat on his desk to face her, “Lydia Martin. The Valedictorian of Beacon High. You could have done worse. Is she out here with you?”

“Nah, she’s finishing her PhD.”  
Erica scoffed, “Naturally. I said you could have done worse, Stiles. But we both know you could have done better.”

He rolled his eyes. Erica had never liked Lydia. And it wasn’t a mystery as to why, either. It was a fifty fifty split in high school. Some girls adored her, others despised her. Lydia wasn’t mean. She was just spoiled and acted like it. Despite it all, it had only taken one look before Stiles was in love. He spent five years wooing her and he wasn’t about to let Erica discount that.

“What about Boyd? How’s he doing?”

“I’m good.”

Stiles jumped so high he landed on his feet. Boyd cracked a small smile at his reaction, and from what Stiles remembered from the stoic man, any emotion from this giant was huge in itself.

“Warn a brother,” he gasped, clutching his chest before holding out a hand to shake, “I’m Stiles.”

“I know. I remember you,” he said, not unkindly before taking Stiles’ hand in his.

“God, I hope it’s nothing too embarrassing.”

The man let out a huff of laughter, “Not entirely.”

A grin pulled at Stiles’ face, “That’s good. Erica and I were just discussing plans to catch up.”

He turned to his fiance, “So I hear.”

The blonde looked as if she was about to say something before thinking better of it and crossing her arms across her chest in a pout. His curiosity piqued at the exchange but he said nothing.

“I’d love to take you guys out for dinner or drinks sometime.”

“We’re both off Saturday,” Erica smiled, “Drinks sound good. I’d love to hear all about you and Lydia Martin’s life in the city.”

Stiles shook his head fondly, “Saturday it is then. Oh, and congratulations, you guys. I’m happy for you.”

Erica’s smile stretched, a flash of genuinity came and went before it was menacing again, “Thanks. That desert thing’s still on the table. I bet we could goad Boyd into a threeway. I’ve always been curious about a polyamory.”

Stiles shoved her out of the chair.

  
  
He met Isaac later that day, too. The guy reminded him a lot of Allison. Sharp and rough upon initial impression, but the longer you talked the softer they became. By the end of the conversation, Stiles had promised to bring in cookies and Isaac in turn would let him borrow his GOT DVDs for the week. Things were starting to look up. Maybe this job wouldn’t be so bad.


	3. OT: Overtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He takes it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...kind of a short chapter, but I felt like this one was due for an update. Looks like I'm going to have to start resisting posting as I write because things keep getting left behind.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like it. I'll be stuck on a train tomorrow for a few hours, so keep an eye out for chapter 4/5!
> 
> Much Love

He took it back.

He took it all back. Because who was glaring at him from across the room? You guessed it. The delight of a man, Derek Hale. He was just trying to finish these reports and send them back to Finstock so he could finally be rid of his old responsibilities and focus on his new ones. He’d been working for hours, went right through shift change without even using the bathroom. That’s what grad school did to you, if gave you powers, you became _immune_. Except, apparently, to surly men with bushy eyebrows that had a bad habit of staring.

And what was up with his teeth? The guy had perfect teeth. It pissed Stiles the fuck off. Along with, you know, the constant scowling and the fact that this guy was his father’s favorite. But _fuck_. He had been in the zone. And now he couldn’t concentrate. This fucking guy.

He let out a long breath and pinched his nose. He felt the stiffness of his joints and the slight burn of his contacts that warned him of impending doom if he did not comply with their very demand. He’d have to start bringing his glasses with him if he was going to keep pulling these long hours.

He jumped when he heard movement beside him. Derek didn’t even flinch, he just continued to stare, now much closer and at Stiles’ desk. After a second, Stiles realized he must have asked him something, well, at least that was his hope. It was either that or the man really liked to _look_. He was at a loss and just blankly stared back for a moment, hoping he would repeat himself. When it looked like nothing of the sort would happen he bit the bullet.

“What?”

The man let out a long sigh like Stiles was some kind of incompetent child. Stiles didn’t even try to hide his annoyance, visibly clenching his jaw and averting his gaze. He didn’t know what the guy's deal was, but he didn’t have to look at Stiles... _treat_ Stiles like he was such an inconvenient waste of space. He was doing the station a favor, here. Not that he minded...but still. It was something to be taken into consideration. Or at least, Stiles thought so.

“Nevermind,” Derek grumbled and turned away.

Stiles gritted his teeth. He wasn’t sure what he ever did to the Almighty _Derek Hale_ in his life to deserve this kind of treatment, but he kind of hopes it was really shitty. Like _really_ shitty. Dismissing the man altogether from his mind, he turned back to his laptop and continued typing.

_Professional professional professional._

He was busy reading an email from Lydia about a research proposal when a figure approached his desk. It had only been about fifteen minutes but the man was _back_. He shot his gaze up, but it immediately softened when the scowling man offered him a coffee. Stiles sputtered.

“I--um. What?”

“You haven’t moved all day,” he said, tone half wonder, half cautious.

“I...I um,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m just finishing up these reports for New York. I was in the middle of research.”

Derek nodded carefully, eyes still eerily tracking Stiles’ face.  
  
After a moment he spoke, “Your Dad’s really happy you’re here.”  
  
Stiles raised an eyebrow. Was he actually trying to have a conversation? No. Well...he had just brought him a coffee. Maybe...maybe there was hope?

“He might be now,” he smiled up at the man, “but I’m sure he won’t be when I confiscate all the red meat in the house and switch his whole milk to skim.”

“Sure,” the man answered and stalked off before Stiles could even try to say anything in return. Had he mentioned hope? He had _lied_.

 

A few hours later he rubbed at his eyes and looked at the clock. He was supposed to meet Danny at some restaurant downtown to catch up outside of work. He shut down his laptop, opting to leave it at the station to discourage him doing any extra work at home, and slid into to bid his father goodbye.

“Heading out?” John asked before Stiles even opened his mouth.

“Yeah. I’m meeting Danny for dinner. Want me to bring you back anything?”

“Nothing specific. Which restaurant?”

“Uh,” Stiles fumbled for his phone to go through the messages, “Haab? He says they have really good margaritas.”

His Dad smiled, “Alright. Just don’t make it a remake of Senior Prom and I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

He felt his face go beat red, “Oh my God, _Dad_!”

He covered his eyes with his hand while John laughed heartily.

“On that note...”

“Have fun tonight. I love you.”  
  
He couldn’t help the grin, “I love you too!”

He turned to go but something was tugging at the back of his mind. With a sigh of surrender he riffled through his wallet and pulled out a five.

Sliding it on the corner of the clean desk he addressed his father’s questioning look, “Tell Derek I said thanks for the coffee.”

John pulled a long stare and looked between the bill and his son once more before agreeing, “Sure kid. See you at home.”

He shut the door and threw his arm back in a stretch, letting his yawn take over his face. He checked his watch. If he hurried he could take a shower before meeting Danny. Because he smelt like the station and he needed those margaritas. Badly.

  


“Hey Sheriff,” Derek called in, Isaac striding up behind him, “We’re back.”

There had been a number of recent robberies in a neighborhood and they had just returned from patrol. No sign of foul play, but he suspected that if anything were to turn up it’d be the night shift’s game.

“Anything?”

“Nah,” Isaac drawled, “Ms. Andersen did ask when you were going to call her, however.”

John tsked and shook his head. Ms. Andersen was one of their more frequent...customers. There were at least two calls every week about her neighbor’s public indecency (they kissed goodbye in the driveway as it was later uncovered) and about her cat that kept getting stuck in her tree or running away (spoiler alert: she didn’t own a cat). John had driven her home one night, about a year ago from a nightly walk gone bad and she had chalked it up to a date and has been waiting for his call ever since.

Derek shook his head fondly, his gaze casually drifting out across the bullpen and inevitably landing on Stiles’ chair. He seemed to be gone, which was good. The kid looked like he was about to keel over and die earlier and his scent had gone... _stagnant_. That was a unique trait in itself. No one Derek had ever met had a scent that just seemed to lay down and still, no matter how focused they got. It had caused his wolf great distress for hours before he found himself walking over and offering to take him to get food. He had just gotten big brown eyes in return, but at least his scent had stirred back to life somewhat.

Stiles made his wolf...weird. Every since the moment he saw him there was a ghosted thought in the back of his brain that he couldn’t quite reach, no matter how hard he tried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So??

**Author's Note:**

> So far so...? How was it? 
> 
> I've been experimenting with a bunch of writing styles & moods lately, so I'd love to know what you guys think of this one. Too flowy? Too much? I don't know, it's hard for me to tell.
> 
> I'd love to see you guys in the comments and for chapter two!  
> Thank you so much!
> 
> Lots of Love & Lots of Sterek  
> xoxo


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